


"Course He Does"

by DevineMandate



Series: Sour, Savory, Sweet [2]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Post-Lethal White
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23017504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevineMandate/pseuds/DevineMandate
Summary: Strike and Robin are dating the wrong people (again!).  Let's just see how it goes from there...
Relationships: Charlotte Campbell Ross/Cormoran Strike, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike, Robin Ellacott/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Sour, Savory, Sweet [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661248
Comments: 52
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Don't usually write in the present tense, but it happened here.

Strike is watching Robin, and trying not to think about where she’ll be going this evening or with whom.

This John person has been in her life about seven weeks, and Strike is fairly certain they have been sleeping together the past month or so. Ever since the night she wore that short-skirted, cleavage-displaying, black cocktail dress. (Strike had literally salivated at the sight of her in it before she’d left the office, wanting to eat her breasts and thighs as though she were a platter of chicken.) There had been a buoyancy in her looks, words, and actions the following Monday that had made Strike sick to his stomach.

He hadn’t realised how many flavours of envy there were, but Robin seeing John has brought out a new bouquet in the diet of jealousy he’s been steadily eating the past three years or so. With Matthew, jealousy was bitter: the tit’s complete unworthiness and the weight of his history with Robin were like pure cacao in the back of Strike's mouth. With John, jealousy is acidic: what Strike has heard of him paints him as a decent bloke, and thinking about or hearing about John makes Strike involuntarily suck his lips backward in distaste, like lemon juice is attacking his taste buds.

(It’s no wonder he can’t lose weight--he clearly has food on the brain with all these metaphors; it’s nearly as problematic as his Robin hangup.)

He’s a hypocrite anyway; he’s seeing Charlotte this evening, so he has no right to ruminate on Robin’s sex life.

The truth is, though, that it isn’t going well with Charlotte. She is often funny and incredibly beautiful, but some combination of his time with Lorelei and his feelings for Robin seem to have broken him of his fascination with Charlotte. Too many of her jokes have a sharp edge of cruelty, and her complete lack of warmth leaves him wanting. He's a junkie trying to get high on a drug to which he has grown immune.

What is he going to do?

“That’s office hours up,” says Robin, moving to shut her computer down. She no longer dresses up for her outings with John, and that’s even worse than seeing her flesh on display for the benefit of another man. It speaks to an intimacy in their relationship that doesn’t require trappings or events to make it work. “What’s your weekend look like?”

“Dunno,” he says, rubbing his chin. “I think it might just be an evening in with Charlotte tonight.”

“Same,” says Robin as she stands up, and Strike’s heart judders. “But with John of course.”

“Great,” says Strike, holding fast against his intense desire to shout and stomp and throw things. “Really glad to hear that’s going well,” he continues to lie.

“Yeah, I’m pleased so far. Beats being married to Matthew, I’ll say that.” She grins, and Strike wishes a stray bullet would come whizzing through the office window and blow out his brains.

“Nice,” he says, returning her grin, feeling like he will grind his teeth to powder if this goes on much longer. She is about ready to walk out the door, and he says, “Have a great weekend, Robin. Really glad you’re so happy.”

“Thanks, Cormoran.” She is on the landing before she turns around, hesitating. “I’m not meeting John until 8:00. Fancy a pint?”

In a sense, accepting this invitation will only prolong Strike’s torture. But being tortured by Robin is more or less a state of being for him now, and anyway, they are good friends and it is always, always good to talk to her. It will be a nice start to the evening if only he can just put the one thing out of his mind.

“I’m supposed to be meeting Charlotte at 7:00, but somehow, I think I’ll find work keeps me a little later than usual tonight. Yeah, I’m game.” He smiles.

Robin gives him a conspiratorial smirk in return. “Let’s get you busy then. First round’s on you!”

********

Chatting with Robin is good. It’s always good, but tonight, there’s a looseness about her that makes conversation flow even more easily; she’s ready to talk about herself a little more than she has in the past.

Probably because of John.

That bastard.

But she is laughing as she tells a story that degrades Matthew, and the laughter and degradation both soothe him some. “And then Matt…” She is shaking with mirth, trying to keep talking, but laughing too much, and despite everything, it does Strike’s heart good to see her happy and unloading on Matthew. “And then Matt fell off the horse,” she says, breathless. “Right into a big pile of cow shit.” She laughs uproariously and Strike joins her. “He stank for days! Didn’t have a sense of humour about it.” Robin stops laughing and looks bitter suddenly. “He never did, though.”

“No,” says Strike, loose himself from the six beers he has managed to consume in the past couple of hours. He feels such immense fondness in his heart for her, and he hates the man who made her feel small for a decade. “My impression of him was that he takes himself very seriously...it’s so good he’s not in your life anymore.”

“Yeah,” says Robin. “It’s nice to have moved on so completely now.”

Strike does not want to hear anything else about John if he can avoid it, so he moves to end their conversation. “Well, speaking of,” he says, feeling a bit wobbly, not standing up yet. “Guess I should meet up with Charlotte, I promised.”

“I have to go see John, too.” She looks tentative for a moment and then appears to decide to say what’s on her mind: “Maybe it’s not a great sign for either of our relationships that we view it as an obligation.” She smiles at him, though he can also see she’s worried she’s overstepped boundaries with the last remark.

God, but Robin is beautiful. Her eyes and her hair and her smile all shine, dazzling. She’s so beautiful and what’s between them this evening is so nice and he’s just drunk enough that it falls out of his mouth: “Yeah, honestly, I’d rather just be here with you.”

He is immediately horrorstruck, but manages to look casually away for a couple of seconds and keep his fear and shame off of his face, readying himself to play it off or move on as the situation indicates once he looks at her face again in a moment here.

But when he looks at her, he sees a far different expression than the one he was expecting. He imagined a smirk at his idiocy or a chiding frown or perhaps even disgust. Instead, there’s a kind of pain on her face he can’t definitively identify: furrowed forehead and pursed mouth.

Robin lays her right hand gently on his left, looks him square in the eye, and says, “Me too.”

Is it…is it _longing_ he sees in her countenance?

He could kiss her now and find out. She wouldn’t be angry even if she didn’t want him, but his own longing is outweighed by his fear of all the repercussions, personal and work-related. Even if she does want him, it’s a terrible idea…isn’t it?

Still, there is a closeness right now that has to be acknowledged or it will feel strained.

“You’re such a good friend, Robin. You mean so much to me. Thank you.”

She nods and withdraws her hand. “You too, Cormoran.”

He makes sure there is no awkward silence by standing up. “Right, I’m off. Have a good night with John; I’ll see you on Monday at the office.”

“Right, see you.” She’s still sitting when he turns around and he can feel her eyes on him as he walks away. All he has to do is keep walking and not turn around, but he does turn around as he reaches the door, and she’s still looking at him, pensive and thoughtful. She raises a hand in farewell, and as he returns the gesture, he wonders just how badly he has ballsed this up.


	2. Chapter 2

Robin hears it again and again, plays it back in her head and savours it like a meal or a good bottle of wine. _“I’d rather just be here with you.”_ How is she supposed to just go on with her evening now?

She’s meeting John at his flat tonight. They’ve been to each other’s homes a few times per venue in the last month, forgoing formal dates since the first time they slept together, and there is already a pleasant routine of food, sex, and telly before sleep. He’s cooking for her this evening, and he’s been such a gentleman, and a very good lover to her, introducing her to some things she’d never known about herself, taking her to a world beyond Matt, a world where sex is better than she’d known it could be. She had been upfront with John before they slept together about her feelings for Strike, but she had also told him she was ready to move on.

Until an hour ago, she’d actually thought she was.

But Strike has just made it clear once again that Robin is special to him beyond their working relationship, that she matters to him in a way no one else does, and her heart is once again ensnared. It frustrates her so much, her inability to escape his orbit, and the conflict between his evidently high opinion of her and the way he puts her at arm’s length so much of the time.

No matter what, it isn’t fair to John. She has to tell him.

She kisses him as he opens the door (he is a good kisser, much better than Matt, it’s incredible how much a little more experience has taught her), the meal he has made is delicious, and if she doesn’t say anything, they will soon progress naturally to sex and the warmth of a shared bed, but she has to say something, and as they finish eating, she finally does.

“John, I have to tell you something.”

“Oh dear,” says John, sitting down in anticipation of the blow, seemingly knowing what she’s about to say.

She hesitates and then proceeds. “I’m still in love with Cormoran. I’ve tried to leave him behind in my heart, but I haven’t made any progress in the last month since we talked about this, and I can’t see it changing any time soon. You’ve been nothing but wonderful to me, but I don’t think it’s fair to you to keep seeing you when I feel this way.”

John raises a hand to his cheek and rubs his palm up and down his face, looking into the middle distance, thinking it through before he speaks. He finally looks up and into her eyes. “Robin, I am already perilously close to loving you, so I’m going to go against my own self-interest here. I think you owe it to yourself to tell him how you feel.”

Robin reacts as though he’s suggested she set off a bomb. “Oh, I can’t! This job is perfect for me, and our friendship is so good, and the woman he’s with is just awful--awful enough to make me think he’s broken in some fundamental, irreparable way if she’s truly his choice. I can’t tell him.”

“You can’t live like this, Robin,” he says, his tone reasonable and even. “I mean...I suppose you can, but why? What are you going to do after you stop seeing me? Date another man you can’t fall in love with? When does it end? You’re going to be trapped in between until you do something one way or the other.”

He’s right, of course, but the leap is so terrifying. Cormoran, in many ways, is her whole life now. She has no truly close friends living nearby otherwise, such that Strike dominates the landscape of both her work and personal life. If she risks this and it doesn’t work, her world could be in flames.

“Listen,” says John. “I desperately, _desperately_ want this to continue, but if there’s a woman who could repair an irreparable man, it’s you.” He looks at her, sad. “You know...when you told me about him, I said I didn’t think I could live with being the man you dated on the side...but I like you so much, I think I was wrong. If you’re...if you tell him, and he doesn’t feel the same way--although I have to tell you, Robin, I highly doubt it--if he doesn’t feel the same way, then...I hope you’ll want to keep seeing me. And if you really can’t tell him, then I’d still like to keep seeing you in that circumstance...though I’m not sure I could live that way forever; I’d be hoping you could transfer your attachment to me. Which definitely doesn’t feel degrading or pathetic.”

“John, you’re not pathetic; I’m truly honoured to be the object of your affection. I think, though, that we have to not see each other no matter what happens, at least in the near future. I’m not ready to be a loving, committed partner. If I ever am, you’ll be the man I call. That’s a promise.”

“Thanks, Robin. That means a lot. You’re an incredible woman. It’s been such a pleasure.”

They embrace, and despite the circumstances, his erection presses against her. He moves to release her so she can take her leave, but Robin stills him, and whispers in his ear: “I don’t think I should stay the night, but I’d love to be with you one more time. If you want to.” She grips his wrists and puts his hands on her chest, and he smiles, though a little ruefully. “I’d be a downright moron not to accept that invitation.”

The sex is beautiful, all the more for being tinged with sadness. She shouts atop him with her strong orgasm, and he comes soon after, a few tears on his cheeks.

After she’s dressed, he sees her out. He takes a last look at her after she crosses his flat’s threshold. “Thank you for everything, Robin. I hope you find what you’re looking for.” He shuts the door.

Robin walks out of the building and into the night air. There is some sadness, but mostly a sense that she has done the right thing for John and for herself.

_I’d rather just be here with you._

Yes, Robin thinks, she would rather be with Strike in the bloody Tottenham than with any other man anywhere else in the world. Until that’s not true, she can’t date anyone else.

What if she says something to him and he is not interested and she _still_ is in love with him and cannot find peace? Knowing he is rutting with that vile witch disheartens her so much. If he rejects her in this way, it will be forever between them that he prefers Charlotte to her in a very important sense, and she’s not sure she could bear knowing that.

It’s his voice she hears in her head now. _Be brave, Ellacott. You’ve been through so much. You took a big risk and followed your dream instead of money. You’ve fought off one killer and outlasted another. You left Matthew. You can do anything._

Robin walks down the pavement and finally down the stairs of the Tube station, trying to imagine walking into the office on Monday morning and telling Cormoran that she loves him.


	3. Chapter 3

Strike decides to break it off with Charlotte moments before the last time he comes inside her. He looks up at her, bouncing on his cock, but she is not looking at him. She seems to be in her own world, moaning as Strike fucks her with routine excellence, without his mind on the sex at all. It is almost like his cock…like he himself…is a tool she is using. Perhaps that’s only fair. If neither of them are really thinking about the other as they copulate, no one’s hurt, right?

 _"I’d rather just be here with you."_ That’s what he’d said, and he’d meant it. _In vino veritas_ and all that.

Strike thinks of himself as a very sexual person. His appetite is voracious, the sensations he feels are intense, he is good at (and gratified by) the mechanical and intuitive elements of making a woman come--the stroking, the fondling, watching her face and listening to her sounds to see what’s working, noting her individual likes and dislikes, the cradling and kissing and licking and sucking and fucking--and he loves that cosy, snuggly feeling of post-coitus, one arm around a woman as she lays her head on his shoulder, feeling close to her, his mind finally (if temporarily) at peace. He loves sex so much.

But he has never directly weighed Robin and sex against one another in his mind, and being perfectly honest with himself…he is actually a little surprised, despite his depth of feeling for her, to find he’d rather talk to Robin than fuck anyone else. But it is true. He’d go to the pub with Robin and chat ten times out of ten if offered a choice between that and fucking the most beautiful, the most sexually intense woman in the world. He already knows what that feels like anyway, and talking to Robin is better. He would be voluntarily celibate if he were somehow only able to have the emotional and mental intimacy of a romantic relationship with Robin. 

_I guess I love Robin even more than I love sex._

He’s never felt like this about Charlotte at all. Fucking is a prerequisite to their relationship. They’re doing it right now. To each other and not with each other. He cannot imagine a real relationship with her where sex is not involved.

_It’s over._

But he _is_ a man and he thinks to himself that he’ll enjoy Charlotte’s incredible body one last time as long as her mind is not here to ruin it, and since he is about to voluntarily forsake her body forever. He grabs her firm, tight arse, runs his hands over her back, waist, and thighs, nibbles her collarbone, stuffs his hands and mouth with her fantastic breasts. _But they’re not so big as Robin’s_ he thinks, and his orgasm recedes noticeably.

He’s never had a problem coming almost ever, but the thoughts in his head have made it evasive tonight. He’s had his fill of Charlotte’s body now, grips her waist and hips to thrust more deeply to get to the end, wanting to finish…so that afterward, they can be finished.

These thoughts aren’t helping him to come. How will he get there? If the most incredible face and body he’s ever seen or felt can’t get him over the edge, if there is nothing in their long history that now can excite him, what can he do?

_Think about Robin, of course._

That thought alone has pushed him further along and so he indulges himself in a way he never has before. He thinks about the gold and copper gleam of Robin’s hair, those depthless grey-blue eyes, her sunny smile. He thinks of the jumpers and the dresses and the t-shirts and the peasant tops that have hugged her breasts these past few years, the way her top was soaked during the Chiswell case at the pub and he couldn’t help but put eyes on her for a few moments. He thinks about her bent over a filing cabinet. He thinks about the green dress, her muddy jeans in the Land Rover, her laughing in a pub at his stories, her passing him another bag of crisps with no apparent judgment, her cracking witnesses he’d never have gotten to talk, her being the kindest and most sharp-witted person he’s ever met. Her, her, her. Robin, Robin, _Robin_.

And what makes him finally come is remembering the touch of her hand at the pub tonight, and the open-hearted, honest way she’d said, “Me too.” She is so much braver than he is.

He explodes into the condom. _Me too, me too, me too, me…_

Moments later, he is up and cleaning himself. Charlotte puts on a silk robe and lights incense (he won’t miss that bloody smell at all). He attaches his leg and puts on clothes very quickly, and Charlotte is surprised.

“Bluey, are you leaving? What’s the matter?”

He looks around and feels his pockets to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything. He won’t get another chance once she knows what’s happening. Satisfied that when he leaves, he won’t be missing anything left behind, he says, “Charlotte, I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Rage is the first thing that passes over her face, followed shortly by disappointment and confusion. “Why, Bluey?” He remembers the playbook. First it will be pleading and sadness, then burgeoning anger, and then throwing insults and furniture.

“Let’s just go our separate ways.”

“But Bluey, I love you. Please tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help.”

“You can’t; it’s over.”

Her expression hardens, steel in her eyes now. “I think I’m at least entitled to an explanation.”

“Why? So you can talk me out of it? It’s not happening, Charlotte, just let it go.”

“Sixteen years. Sixteen years and all those months of me literally holding you up and tending to you and you think you can just throw it away without telling me why right after you fuck me? Tell me!”

So he does. “I don’t love you, Charlotte, I never did.” For once, she is simply shocked, wordless, her mouth gaping, opening and closing like she’s a shore-stranded fish. “I thought I did. Really. And I’ll never forget the way you supported me after my mum and my leg. But I don’t love you, and I don’t think you really love me. That’s the end of it.”

He recognises the look. She knows he’s serious, and so she will hurl everything at him that she can.

She goes for the throat, her voice starting saccharine and trending to acid as she goes. “Is Robin the one who taught you what love is, Corm? That’s why you’re leaving me? Because some bitch you’re afraid of screwing _smiled_ at you for a few years? It’s pathetic.”

He is not sure he will still be master of himself if she calls Robin a bitch again, so he goes to the door.

As he heads down the drive on foot, she’s in the open doorway raining curses down on him and the women he loves with utter abandon, knowing the bridge is burned and she only has a little more time to berate him.

“Robin is a bint! A common, know nothing, two a penny bint, just like your mother! It’s no wonder you wish you were fucking her, maybe it would be something like having your mother back, right, BLUEY? I hope you DO fuck her and your dick and her cunt fucking ROT! Take her back to the farm she grew up on and milk her like the big-uddered cow she is, you bastard! I hope you both burn in hell! Say hi to your mother for me while you’re there!”

Her voice fades as he walks down the pavement. After he crosses a couple of streets and can no longer hear Charlotte’s screed, he begins to whistle, feeling free and happy.

He compares the way he feels now to the way he felt on the day they split up before, the day of Robin’s arrival, and the gulf between those days is vast indeed. Then, he had felt tormented by what he’d told himself was a necessary decision. Now, he is just glad she is gone.

Should he say something about this to Robin on Monday? Yes, that day, but perhaps not immediately in the morning. It will come up naturally in the course of their conversation.

And when he does tell her, he will make sure there is no hint of it having any meaning beyond friends informing one another of important occurrences in their lives.

Otherwise, it’ll be just another Monday.


	4. Chapter 4

Robin’s pulse pounds as she approaches the office. When she’d gotten dressed this morning, she’d told herself it didn’t matter what she wore, but she’d still chosen something she thinks is flattering on her. She’s tried this past weekend to rehearse what she will say to him, but it all comes out rubbish when she tries speaking aloud to the mirror or the ceiling or the floorboards. She’ll just have to find out what she says when she says it, though she has a vague outline in mind, starting with her split with John and progressing to stating her feelings to Strike. 

She opens the door to the building and climbs the stairs. If she is...if she is really...if she really is going to do this, she should just go in and tell him, point blank. It’ll be easier and she’ll have an answer quickly if she just bites the bullet.

Strike is reading a letter when she walks in and greets him. “Morning!” She sounds creaky and forced as she says it, and he looks up at her momentarily, frowning at the unusual quality in her voice. Damn, this isn’t a good start.

“Anything interesting?” she says, feeling sheepish and pointing at the letter in his hand.

“Nah, just another nutter. How was your week…”

She steps on his last syllable and is louder than she needs to be: “I split up with John this weekend.” _Oh God…really subtle and natural, Ellacott. Spoken like a woman in full possession of her faculties, too._

Strike drops the letter he is holding, then catches it in mid-air before he looks at Robin again. His expression is mobile and unreadable for a few moments as he processes and then his face settles on sympathy and concern. “Really? I’m so sorry, Robin.”

“Yeah, me too. It had to happen, though.” She knows she should get to the point here, but it’s so hard to overcome the fear that is making her hands clammy and her skin tingle and her hair stand on end. The shadows in the room stand out too starkly, the light is too bright, her heart is beating too fast, her perception of the world is elevated, turned to eleven, everything is hyperreality.

“Had to happen? What do you mean?”

She settles on an abridged, non-descriptive version of the truth, still not coming at the thing directly like she’d told herself she would. “There was just an impasse we couldn’t overcome.”

“Hmmm,” says Strike. “Was it a mutual decision?”

Her heart goes so fast that it feels like it’s buzzing in her chest. Her very sternum vibrates. It’s hard to speak in a normal tone of voice, but it's important he knows it was her call. “I’m the one who made the decision. He wants to stay together.”

Strike rolls his eyes and gestures dismissively with his hand. “Course he does.”

The echo from the past cuts to the quick, and she’s so on edge that she lets him know it. “Don’t, Cormoran, don’t do that.”

He is surprised, has no idea what he’s done to her. “Do what?”

"Don't…don't say nice things about me like that, it isn't fair."

"Wait, what? Fair? Robin, what's happening?"

Robin knows she has no right to be this upset with him, but she is so tightly wound and his befuddled expression angers her. He's such an arse sometimes for not seeing what's in front of his face! She spits out the words as she repeats them, filling them with venom and mockery: “ _Course he does._ ” She looks at him intently. “Why of course?”

“What?”

Her intention to be straightforward with him has taken a wrong turn, and is erupting as anger instead of tenderness as the tension inside her snaps. “Don’t be fucking coy, Cormoran.” Now he looks angry. “Back in the vastness of time, you said that exact same thing on the trip to Barrow...I said Matt wanted to stay together and you said ‘Course he does’ the exact same way you said it just now, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Is it so obvious, Cormoran? Really? What is it you mean?”

His brow has only clouded more as she speaks, and now he looks reckless himself. “I think it’s pretty obvious what I mean, Robin.”

In her year’s worth of hopes and daydreams about this moment, in all the scenarios she’s envisioned, she’s never imagined being so angry at him when she reveals herself completely. Her face is pink when she starts speaking and red when she finishes. “Yes, Cormoran, you make it sound like it’s so bloody obvious that a man would be in love with me. You say that you’d rather spend time with me than that ghoul you claim to love. You say these things...you say things like that a lot, things that brush up against being incredibly complimentary of me, and then you back off, retreat, shut me out. It isn’t fair! You can’t lift me up so high just to throw me out in the cold!” In the anger and emotional strain, tears spring to her eyes and run down her cheeks.

He is gobsmacked, stunned, flabbergasted, and he sits down heavily, seemingly incapable of speech as the silence stretches and stretches, and she's even more infuriated at this. Can he truly find nothing to say to her in this moment?

She is still overflowing with energy and fury, but can see shame on the horizon, and decides she won't endure it here in front of him, not today. 

“I need a personal day.”

This finally generates a response. “No, Robin, wait…”

“No! I can’t think, and I don’t want to look at you or talk to you right now, and I know that’s unfair and immature, but I don’t give a fuck. Maybe tomorrow we can talk about this like grownups, but it’s definitely not happening right now. There’s nothing so urgent I can’t take this time, so I’m going to.”

She turns around and leaves the office and stalks down the staircase. The adrenaline is still coursing through her on Denmark Street, but a few streets later, she is thinking a little more clearly, and she wonders if she has in fact lit her world on fire.


	5. Chapter 5

Robin has gone full Bridget Jones. She bought two pints of ice cream before she made it back to the flat, and has ordered from Deliveroo twice this afternoon with a third delivery on the way now, the two previous orders half-eaten on the counter. She’s in a thick, baggy t-shirt and joggers, her hair up and out of the way in a ponytail. She’s binged a couple of her favorite television shows, and done pretty much fuck all otherwise except eat and go to the bathroom. It’s 3:30 now and her flatmate will be back relatively soon, but more importantly, it won’t be long until Strike is off the clock.

God, what has she done?

She had meant to tell him what an extraordinary man he was, how he was so honourable and kind and sweet and sexy.

Instead, she’d slagged him off. With authority.

She sticks a spoon into the ice cream she’s eating, sets it aside, and buries her head in her arms, wondering if their friendship at least can be salvaged. If he hates her for this and she loses everything they’ve built together the last few years, she’ll never forgive herself. Maybe she should go over there and catch him after work. No, she can’t, she’s too embarrassed, she’ll deal with it tomorrow.

The flat’s buzzer rings--the Thai order must be here. She buzzes them through the main building door, makes sure that her shirt and joggers haven't ridden up or down to expose skin she does not want exposed. In about twenty seconds, there’s a knock at the door, and she looks through the peephole.

“Oh, sod a dog,” Robin whispers, for it is of course Cormoran at the door. She feels ambushed.

She runs to the bedroom, throws her bra on, runs back to the door within fifteen seconds, and yells when he knocks again. “Coming!”

She takes a moment to gather and steel herself, then opens the door, feeling disembodied. “Cormoran, hi.”

“Robin.” He doesn’t say anything else and looks caught between antsy and dyspeptic.

"The office?"

"Got Barclay on it."

"Ah.”

There is a brief pause. It's a little tense.

“Will you come in?”

“I don’t know. Should I?”

Oh, this is delicate. How is she going to handle this?

The buzzer rings behind her, deciding for her. “Well, that’s an order of pad thai, chicken satay, peanut sauce, and some spring rolls coming up the stairs in a moment here. Does that entice you?” She smiles nervously.

He smiles, almost unwillingly. “Ah, you know me too well, Robin.” He crosses the threshold, and Robin is feeling so much better. He isn’t going to tell her to go away and never come back.

She deals with the delivery, and then shuts the door behind her, and turns around with the bag of food in her hand. Cormoran is across the room, standing by the sofa. They look at each other and don’t say anything for a couple of seconds, and then they both say:

“I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause, and then they both laugh briefly, nervously.

“No, I’m sorry,” says Robin. “It wasn’t...I didn’t mean...it wasn’t the message I wanted to get across.”

Strike coughs. “No, I...I think it was a good message and, er, delivered with the appropriate amount of feeling.”

Strike suddenly looks queasy and pale, like he is going to be sick, like he will fall to his knees and vomit all over the floor in a moment here. He steadies himself on the sofa.

“Cormoran, are you all right? What’s wrong? Something wrong with your leg?”

Strike wipes a hand across his sweaty forehead, and looks at Robin for a few seconds. Then he takes a deep breath and says, “I split up with Charlotte.”

Robin is sure she hasn’t heard him correctly. “What?! You did? What, today?”

“Friday, actually. We split up on Friday.” He looks at her, clearly not sure what to do, and then looks at the floor.

Friday.

_“I’d rather just be here with you.”_

_”Course he does.”_

Robin sets the food down on the floor, and walks over to Strike, as though in a trance. Strike is still looking down, seemingly shy or afraid.

Robin knows the moment has arrived, feels it hanging in the air, and believes Cormoran feels it too, but there is still an outcry of fear and alarm inside her: 

_Is this wise?! What will happen if we do this?! This will change everything, everything!_

_Everything needs to change, then._

She reaches out and touches one side of his neck. He looks up and she looks deep into his eyes.

“Cormoran.”

She cups his face in her hands a moment, then pulls his head down a little, and kisses him. It is in some ways a virginal kiss, but it’s also, paradoxically, the sexiest kiss she’s ever had--there’s an intense rush of endorphins and dopamine. It feels so natural that she wonders how it’s taken this long. The kiss lasts for a very long time, the warmth and silkiness of his lips pressing and sliding on her mouth.

They stop at the same time and Robin looks him in the face again. “How long?”

He sighs. A painful, high-pitched, aching sigh. “A couple of years now. Before you were married.”

Tears well up immediately for Robin. “Oh! No! No, you poor thing, oh Cormoran.”

She pulls him close to her and holds him, the skin of his neck warm on her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t know, I didn’t know. I didn’t know I was making you wait, oh God, Cormoran, I’m sorry…”

“Yeah, it’s all right. I’m sorry about Charlotte." She can't see his face. That might be a good thing for this part. "I was afraid. For our business, for our friendship. I still am afraid, a little. But I could have said something."

When could he have, though? There was always Matthew or recent divorce in the way, and Strike is too good a man to make overtures to an engaged or married woman. She is overwhelmed by the idea of him wanting her all that time. "God, what you endured. Oh Christ, Cormoran…"

"Hey," he says, "I know we've talked about this already. But when I sacked you...I was vindictive and cruel about it because of how I felt about you. It was a shit thing to do. I'm sorry."

She pulls back to look at him and then says it because it's natural. "I forgive you. I love you. You're wonderful."

Cormoran's face crumples briefly, and then he kisses her with passion, and when his tongue enters her mouth, thought vanishes. The world vanishes. There's only his tongue in her mouth and his hands on her back. He explores her slowly and shallowly for a little before he plunges more deeply into her mouth, she opens her mouth wider to let him explore. She moves her tongue against his, and she is so incredibly turned on.

He comes up for air and smiles at her. 

"I love you too," he says. "You've probably figured that out, though. Detective and all."

She laughs and embraces him, and they just hold one another for several minutes, her cheek on his shoulder, his cheek on her hair.

Strike says, "This reminds me of your wedding. On the stairs."

"Oh God. I wanted to leave with you that night. I couldn't believe how much I felt when you held me, how powerful our connection felt."

"Really?" says Strike, and his voice cracks. "I almost asked you to leave, actually. I was overwhelmed by that hug, Robin. It felt so intensely right to hold you, like I'd held you before, long ago, and missed you without knowing it. And then I had to let you go again."

She's never heard anything so tragic and romantic in her life, and to think it's this wonderful man who feels this way about her. "Oh, Cormoran!"

She holds him tightly, like she'll never let go.

********

Robin is _warm_.

She's also soft and silky and she smells fantastic, but the heat from her body is noticeably intense (she's not sick, is she? -- if she is, he'll get to be her caretaker!).

He says, "I don't know what to do with myself, Robin. I never dreamed this would ever actually happen." There are no words for his happiness. It’s like he’s won a marathon that he’s been running for three years. The world is filled with light, and gravity does not exist.

"I know. Me too," says Robin.

His heart feels like it's glowing inside his chest.

"Hey," she says, finally coming out of their embrace and looking at him. "My flatmate is coming home soon, what should we do?"

"Hmmm, dinner later?"

"Errr," she says, looking at the uneaten food on the counter and floor. "I think I have a better plan. We bring the food that's already here to your flat."

Sweat suddenly covers his palms. "My flat."

"Yeah. That's all right, isn't it?" She looks concerned. 

He's going to have to work a little to make sure she understands she can say and do anything she wants. Between the way he's distanced himself from her at times, and the way Matthew treated her, she's so scared to do the wrong thing. He'll work on it. 

"It's definitely all right. It's bloody excellent, is what it is."

She grins and then surprised happiness jumps on to her face. "Oh! I almost forgot! Here, you pack up the food, there’s ice cream too, and I'll go pack some things to stay the night."

She leaves the room and shuts the door to her bedroom, seemingly unaware that she has left Strike desperate for her and hard as a rock. _"...stay the night."_

He does as he was told and packs up the food into one bag, goes to the bathroom, then waits for her to be ready, just sitting there feeling like everything in the wide world is right and wonderful.

She opens the door and steps out of her room.

"Holy fuck," says Strike. 

She's in the green dress, her hair down, and she looks at him with both lust and humour in her eyes. "Pick your jaw up off the floor, and bring that food with you. You'll want it at two in the morning when you take a short break from fucking my brains out."

Strike feels like he might actually catch fire. "Right, sounds good," he says stupidly. He can make no attempt at wit or repartee with Robin in that dress, and she smiles at his idiocy.

Robin says, "Let's get a cab. Just a guess, but I imagine you're in as much of a hurry as I am."

"Cab, right, yeah, let's go.” He takes the bagged food and walks out and Robin leaves too and locks the door.

She turns away from the door and looks at him, a devastating combination of love and lust in her eyes.

"Cormoran, I love you. I want you. I can't believe this is happening."

"I'm the luckiest man on earth, Robin. And you’re not going to believe how good I’m about to make you feel."

Her expression smoulders, her pupils dilating, and then she smiles and bites her lower lip, looking like the cat who caught the canary. “Guess that makes us both lucky, then.”

They’re in the cab in moments, and the ride passes in a whirlwind of kissing and touching that Strike can only assume is passe for the cab driver, though probably their snogging is much better to watch than many people’s. They both know what they’re doing; there’s no awkwardness or bumped noses or scraped teeth, they meld into one another perfectly. It’s wonderful. He feels heady with delight, her scent and her taste are a drug he is most definitely high on. It’s really happening.

They’re out of the cab in a flurry of tangled limbs, Strike barely remembering to grab the food. The financial transaction is dealt with briefly before they climb the stairs. There’s still groping and fondling but it’s more restrained with the need to get upstairs quickly and each of them holding a bag in one hand.

They’re at the door of his flat and it is like he sees a gigantic “Point Of No Return” sign in his mind, and a little of the old fear creeps back in just as he turns the key in the lock.

He takes one step away from her, and says, “Are you sure about this, Robin? I’m old and fat and one-legged, and we have a business to run together. Are you sure?”

Robin gives him a disbelieving look. “Cormoran, you’re an incredible person, stop denigrating yourself, it’s a nasty habit of yours. As for our business, I’ll make it simple for you: if you don’t shag me silly very soon, I will hand in my notice. I’m not joking.”

She turns the doorknob, pushes the door open, and throws her bag inside.

“And as for whether I’m sure…”

She takes his free hand and pulls him inside.

“Course I am.”

And she slams the door behind them.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Bravery: A Companion Piece](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24010864) by [DevineMandate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevineMandate/pseuds/DevineMandate)




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